Death Note: No more heroes
by Flamberge
Summary: Not a No More Heroes X-over! It's basically about someone who ends up in Wammy's House. It doesn't much affect canon, so believe it if you like. Or don't. NO FLAMES. I will not tolerate them. Current Verse: Murder


Me: Hey folks! Flamberge here with a brand new story! It's not Kindom Hearts, but I've decided to branch out a bit for now. Worry not, though- A new KH fic is IN THE WORKS. Just thought I should tell you all that.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the plot or characters of the Death Note manga or anime series. The rights belong squarely with Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata along with the publishing companies of both the manga and anime, including Viz and Shueisha Jump & Entertainment. I only own Ike, Question Mark, Lyra Hopkins, Ever, any other original characters and the plot. Do NOT use any of my characters without my expressed permission.

In addition, the songs whose lyrics I borrow belong to the individual artists and their recording and publishing companies.

Whew. I'm only posting THAT disclaimer once...

--

Verse 1: Murder

**Sit tight I'm going to need you to keep time**

**C'mon just snap, snap, snap your fingers for me**

**Good. good now we're making some progress**

**So C'mon just tap, tap tap your toes to the beat**

**Now I believe**

**This may call for a proper introduction and well**

**Don't you see,**

**I'm the narrator and this is just the prologue**

**-The Only Difference between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage, Panic! at the Disco**

((I))

Blood.

That was all he saw.

Blood.

Lots of it.

It was spilled all across the room. Spilled from his parents, his brothers and his sister. All five members of his family were sprawled out on the ground in front of him. They were all dead.

The boy was standing there staring at the gruesome scene. He was short for the age of seven, with sandy blond hair and his pajamas on. There were airplanes on his pajamas. Blood was splattered on the airplanes, which he didn't much like.

The murderer stood in the middle of the room. He was grinning at the boy, his cruel smile reflected in his glinting knife blade. "Would you like to leave, little piggy? Would you like to never have to deal with this horrible world again? How would you like to be with your family? They're waiting for you... all you have to do to see them again is close your eyes and let me make one last quick cut... Then it'll all be over."

The boy looked very frightened, and probably for good reason. There was a man in front of him with a knife. He was paralyzed with fear, clutching tightly to his teddy bear. The bear frankly looked about to burst. The boy stayed there, not moving or responding. He wasn't about to close his eyes... he hadn't even blinked in the last 10 minutes... six hundred horrible seconds of watching everyone he loved being killed... he still couldn't believe it.

Somewhere he knew what had happened and he had already accepted his fate. He was going to die. There wasn't going to be any stopping it. Everyone had said that he was a prodigy and everything... and that was probably why he was going to be killed. He didn't know that this man had killed his family just to kill something. He didn't know that the murderer was an asylum inmate who had escaped only a day ago and had already killed three more households full of people. He was killing indiscriminately because he could.

The boy didn't know that.

The boy knew that he was going to die soon. The murderer was approaching him, the knife's edge dripping blood. The killer licked the blood off the blade of the knife, grinning demonically at the boy.

"What's your name, child?" he asked, "I'd like to know before I send you off..."

The boy didn't respond for a moment, "Umm... Ike." he said, still clutching the bear. He was only seven! He shouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing!

"Ike." the killer bowed, "It's a pleasure to meet you, kid. Too bad I have to kill you now." he said. He lunged at Ike with the knife. Ike ran out of the way, letting the knife drive itself into the drywall behind him, far past the hilt.

"Y-you tried to kill me!" Ike exclaimed. he knew the killer was going to do that already, but he was more shocked at his instant evasion of the assault than he was of the actual attack.

"You made me get my knife stuck... you little bastard!" he yelled.

"That's not my problem." Ike said. Where did he get the courage to stand up to this guy like that?

"Like hell it isn't! My mother gave this to me... now you ruined it..." he collapsed on the floor and began to sob, crying harder than any man Ike had ever seen. Yes, Ike had seen grown men cry before. He watched Oprah sometimes. The entire program was so horrible... but watching pedophiles cry felt good somehow. Whatever a pedophile was.

"Well, that's what you get for trying to kill people." Ike said.

The murderer glared at Ike, "That was my mother's. Not yours to insult... not anyone's to insult... mine to cherish, to hold... breaking that knife is like killing my mother..." he glared at Ike.

Ike shrugged, "You had no qualms about killing mine." he said.

"You're just a kid... you don't know how the world really works..." he said.

Ike picked up a small ivory statue from a table, "I'm young, yes. That doesn't mean I don't know how the world works." he said, approaching the sobbing man.

The murderer kept crying, "All your fault... all your fault..." he muttered, over and over.

Ike positioned himself over the murderer, statue in hand. As he was about to bring it down, the murderer caught it.

"Nothing's going to kill me, boy. What about you?" he hissed at Ike. The murderer then suddenly drove his knee into the boy's side. Ike flew around, feeling his wrist snap as the murderer held onto it tightly.

The world spun around Ike, and he tried to follow. There was a sudden sharp pain in his head. He touched his hair and felt blood welling up in it. Tears welled up in his eyes. He really was going to die. For a moment he hadn't believed it. he had thought he'd kill this guy and become a hero.

As if.

What had he been thinking? A seven-year-old couldn't stand up to an adult. Maybe in some weird fifth dimension...

Though it still wasn't likely.

The murderer stood over him. He looked insane, standing there. His eyes looked to be, quite literally, on fire. Ike knew it was the glare from the kitchen light, but it looked frightening enough.

"And now, little piggy, you die." he said. The murderer held up the statue and was about to bring it down when suddenly the door of the house was kicked down. The murderer ran out the nearest window, dropping the statue as he did.

Ike watched as police officers swarmed his house, examining everything. They started taking pictures and poking around the room. He barely noticed anything as he was led away from his house and into a police car. The police car he'd been loaded into drove off into the night.

On the way to the police station, Ike fell fast asleep.

--

So that's the first chapter, ladies and gents! Please give me constructive criticism if you happen to leave a review. I will not tolerate flaming.

One thing in particular that I will not tolerate throughout any part of this story: Ike is NOT a Gary Stu. If you notice, he never becomes anything more than aqquantances with canon characters, and I plan to give him plenty of flaws, especially when he's older. I only say this now because I have several other chapters written up at the moment, and there's a certain incident that may lead you to believe that.

But more on that when the time comes.

Until then, keep reading this story or anything you find that's better, and please do leave a review if you like this.

-A Krystad, aka Flamberge


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